Is It Over?
by Queen of the Shadylands
Summary: My name is Octavius and I am an up and coming designer in the Capitol. I'm simply fabulous, that goes without saying, but I am equally confused about events unfolding around me. I never had doubts about how we led our lives, until one fateful night the veil was lifted and I caught a glimpse of a truth I was little prepared to accept...
1. Chapter 1

_Written by a dear friend of mine, His Imperial Highness._

**Is it over, do you think?**

A steady hand and unwavering conviction in your own abilities is all that one requires, in applying just the right amount of eyeliner, to make a bold yet sophisticated statement; I was due to attend a very special event, so I had no option but to look my Capitol Best!

While I was entirely focused on my reflection in the feature mirror of my bedroom, my PDA buzzed, causing me to blink and smudge the eyeliner on my upper right eyelid. With a slight gasp of dissatisfaction, I checked who was calling and found it to be my best friend and 'partner in crime', Medusa. I transferred the call to my mirror, as I reached for a make-up removing wipe with my other hand.

Medusa's smiling face appeared in a small screen at eye level in my mirror and, looking radiant in turquoise, spoke first with a trill that did little to hide her excitement "Hello darling, Happy Hunger Games! Are you nearly ready?"; it sounded as though she was in a car, so I assumed she was already on her way. I did not respond since, judging by the look of surprise on her face, I could tell Medusa already knew how 'ready' I was. She was wearing her new turquoise wig with sequinned top-hat accessory and some deliciously opulent earrings that glinted as she gasped dramatically. It was also apparent that my dear friend had evidently had a full body polish or two, because there was not a blemish to be seen on her expertly made-up face.

I wiped away the smudge and started to re-apply my eyeliner, as I replied "Hello dear, Happy Hunger Games to you too! Had you called a few moments later, I would have most certainly been ready but, unfortunately, it would appear I have fallen victim to a slight make-up malfunction…not to worry though, this will only cause a minor delay. Are you close by?" I started pulling faces while adjusting my appearance, so as not to blink, which made Medusa giggle.

"I'm not far now, but don't worry, take all the time you need; I can always ask the driver to take a longer route! After all, if there was ever a day on which it was compulsory to look your Capitol Best, it's this one!" Medusa replied, with a supportive smile.

"So very true! I'll only be a few minutes now, so hurry along. We don't want to be late!" I said with a laugh, as I finished applying my eyeliner.

"I'll leave you to it then, Octavius. See you in the lobby" she chirped, while adjusting her wig. Medusa then waved a silk-gloved hand and the call disconnected, leaving me in the company of my own reflection.

I am not a particularly showy Capitol male, at least not where make-up is concerned; I prefer the radiant, natural look and have never been very fond of fads like skin dyes and facial tattoos. I find them all too flippant and, more often than not, such 'enhancements' quickly fall out of trend and become vulgar; having said that, though, I am partial to a touch of bronzed shimmer, to complement my eyes, and clear lip-gloss to accentuate my mouth, which I had already applied that evening.

Any self-respecting citizen due to attend a prestigious event should always have an essential, well-rehearsed final checklist to go through before leaving home, so I proceed to go through mine while putting on my dark grey overcoat; after all, it is best to spot and correct a flaw in the comfort of your own home than to notice one in public, where you can only make use of your skill and your limited supplies to ensure you really do look your Capitol Best: the full body polish and face moisturising treatments I had indulged in for the past few weeks and, in fact, earlier that same day had paid off; what tastefully tanned skin I had on show looked smooth, supple and glowing.

My dark, wavy hair was creatively combed into a high quiff, accented with the odd hue of blue and green. The hair products I had used gave it a sheen that made it glisten under the bright lights of my apartment.

The electric blue silk shirt I was wearing, accented by an emerald green neck-tie and a dark waistcoat, really highlighted my emerald green trousers; the entire ensemble was set off by my newly acquired navy-blue and brown striped suit-jacket. I wore my recently commissioned black leather shoes, polished to a shine, which are mandatory for such a high-brow event.

I couldn't forget my newest accessory, a burnished-gold pin modelled after the one the Girl on Fire wore last year. I tell you, that girl's stylist has turned her into a veritable icon; not that she appears to show any appreciation for his efforts. Pity. As a stylist and designer myself, I know how hurtful it can be when your models don't appreciate how much thought and hard work goes into each and every detail.

My thoughts remained with the Girl on Fire as I put on my black soft-leather gloves and flung my green summer scarf about my neck theatrically; I thought about her rise to fame, from the dirty little district urchin, to the radiant beauty we had all come to love. I distinctly recall thinking it was a shame her life as a Victor was to be so short lived; I for one would have loved to see her wedding, but rules are rules, I suppose. However, I took courage in the fact she had won before, so she could win again.

I left my apartment with a spring in my step and made my way to the lifts, just a short walk down the pristine hallway from my door. The block I lived in was simply perfect; there were parties in the penthouse every other day and the general buzz, generated by the Hunger Games, never failed to keep relations with neighbours amicable. Though I say so myself, I happen to be one of the more respected residents of this block, given my position in the shortlist to become a stylist for next year's games. You see, I spent some of my early years as a member of various prep teams and had worked my way up very quickly, due to my aptitude and ever increasing skill in the field. I left the circuit because I wanted to pursue my own independent career, but now I feel ready to return. Who knows, maybe by getting back into the Hunger Games circuit I can one day fulfil my dream of becoming an Official District Escort.

The doors of the lift sighed open and I stepped in, informing the Avox I was headed to the lobby.

I preened my hair and dabbed on a little more lip-gloss (I always carry a stick in my coat pocket) while ensuring my appearance was perfect in the mirrored panels of the lift, as it carried me down 42 floors in a heartbeat.

I emerged into the bright, open space that was the lobby; a dazzling array of polished marble floors and high columns, golden fittings and glistening chandeliers. Dotted around were clusters of padded, green satin armchairs around low, mahogany coffee tables, all of which were decorated with colourful arrangements of beautifully scented flowers; most of the flowers weren't even native, let alone in season, but such is the beauty of living in the Capitol: very little is impossible. The tables and chairs encircled the round Concierge desk, which dominated the middle of the hall; this was opulently clad in gold-gilded mahogany panels and manned by a pair of smartly dressed Avoxes.

There was a great bustle of chatter and clinking china as other residents conversed and sipped hot and cold beverages, brought to them by the ever-attentive team of Avoxes. Along the walls at intermittent intervals, as well as above the Concierge desk, were bright screens broadcasting the arrival of the VIPs and special guests for Caesar Flickerman's live show; the lights, colours and faces I saw depicted there all made my stomach flutter with excitement! I too would be basking in that grandeur very soon.

As I made my way to the Concierge to enquire as to whether Medusa had arrived, the soft clicking of heels behind me made me turn.

'Octavius, darling, you look fabulous!' Medusa beamed as she clapped her gloved hands in un-refrained excitement.

'Not as fabulous as you, my dear' I responded. We embraced, careful not to knock her wig off balance or smudge any make-up.

Medusa laughed and feigned embarrassment, 'Oh, always the charmer. Now stop it, or you'll make me blush!' We laughed for a moment, then Medusa added 'Right, now that we've established we are both fabulous enough to be seen in each other's company, we can be on our way!' While continuing to chatter excitedly, we linked arms and made our way to the forecourt outside.

As we walked, I took note of Medusa's choice of attire; she wore a turquoise peplum, knee-length dress, a dark silver puff-shouldered shrug with long sleeves, opaque stone-grey tights with silver highlights, a silver and grey woven leather belt with a silver, lapis lazuli and sapphire studded clasp and a pair of pointed, reticulated high heels in stone-grey suede. Medusa had also accessorised beautifully with a silver/turquoise sequinned clutch bag (to mirror her sequinned mini top-hat), dark metallic bangles and rings and a few long strings of black pearls, to match her black pearl earrings. All in all, a veritable vision in turquoise!

There is something you need to know about Medusa, and that is that she goes through Pallet-Phases (as she calls them); essentially, my dear friend becomes fixated every so often with a new colour and so takes it upon herself to procure, or commission, any items she requires to match her current seasonal colour. This year, it's turquoise, and let me tell you that colour is everywhere, from the curls of her wig to the tips of her pedicured toes.

Another thing you should know is that Medusa is a professional socialite, by choice; she comes from a very affluent family and, although she has skills that could be put to good use in the fashion industry, she would much rather _be_ an icon than create one. I suppose this is one of the reasons we get along so well; she is more than happy to be the first to try on and publicize all of my collections, which she claims are each better than the last, and I am always overjoyed to have such a willing model.

The reason I mention this here is simple; while most citizens are happy to rely on the public transport network within the Capitol to get around (me included), people like Medusa only travel in cars with drivers. Medusa's father, a key figure in the design of a number of arenas and still an active member of the Hunger Games Committee, owns a number of cars. I had therefore asked Medusa to procure a particularly eye-catching one so we could make our way to the theatre in style.

'What kind of car is it?' I asked, my brows raised in expectation.

Medusa looked slightly puzzled, paused for a moment then said 'Oh, I don't really know. It's new and blue, if that helps!' We looked at each other, smirked then erupted into childish giggles as we headed out onto the forecourt, arm in arm. 'Caesar Flickerman, here we come!'

The main doors of the apartment complex opened with a slight hum and we were outside, in the balmy air of that summer evening. There, at the base of the stone steps, was our mode of transportation; of course, whether you own a car or not, they are a common sight along the streets of the Capitol, so I cannot claim to have been totally overwhelmed at the sight of it. Although riding in one is still exciting, nobody reacts the way a tribute from an outer district would at the first sight of cake.

My knowledge of automobiles is only slightly better than Medusa's, but even I knew the vehicle waiting for us was the latest product of a joint venture, from Districts 3 and 6. The dark blue body was polished to a shine and highlighted by various chrome features, such as the beautifully crafted hood ornament; it appeared to be a person in taking flight. It really was a beauty to behold.

An Avox in chauffer's uniform had already opened the rear door and was standing patiently as we approached; with a motion of his white-gloved hand, we slid onto the plush leather seats. After Medusa and I had made ourselves comfortable, our chauffer tipped his cap and shut the door, then quickly but professionally walked back around and took his place in the driver's seat. As I took note of the elegant interior and Medusa checked her wig was still in place, the vehicle rumbled into life; we were on our away, along the brightly lit, sweeping boulevards of the Capitol. Evening was fast approaching and the sky was turning all shades of red, orange and purple as the sun slowly set behind the mountains. Not that we noticed much of this, since we were either too busy chatting excitedly or peering out of the tinted windows to see if our mode of transport would turn any heads.

The drive to the theatre was brief but memorable; as we tempered our excitement by sipping some champagne from long, fluted glasses, we observed the bustle of the city as it passed us by. There were crowds of people moving around the plazas and pedestrian areas of the city, and many heads did in fact turn as our car glided passed. Medusa and I toasted to the start of what we knew would be one of the most amazing experiences of our lives; a sample of things to come once I entered the Hunger Games circuit for good and became more than just a very stylish citizen.

Eventually our journey of euphoria ended, as our car came to a stop just outside the theatre; what a spectacular building it is! The style is deceptively simple while also being un-intrusively imposing, due to the large columns running to the top of the structure, accented by gold gilded capitels; the fluttering banners, swinging spotlights and light emanating from the large windows added just the right amount of grandeur and 'sparkle'.

Our chauffer came around the vehicle to open the door, so we could emerge into this pinnacle of social mingling. I exited first, being careful to look dignified as I slid myself out of the vehicle, then assisted Medusa to do the same by extending my hand, which she clasped gladly. She alighted with near perfection, only slightly knocking her wig off-centre on the door frame. This is why I prefer trams to cars, there is simply much more headroom when alighting; getting in is relatively simple but getting out elegantly, especially while heavily accessorised, is a chore that few seem to be able to fully master or execute with perfect elegance. While Medusa adjusted her wig, I took in the full sights and sounds of the theatre.

As a member of various prep teams in the past I had been inside before, but only back stage; I remember trying to catch glimpses of the show whenever I accompanied a tribute to the wings, but these were always too brief. This time was very different though, because I was going in to _be _entertained! I couldn't help but grin in anticipation.

Medusa, on the other hand, had seen more than one live show in her time; to be honest, she was the reason I was able to come at all this year. Important figures, like Medusa's father, received complimentary tickets for the live show each year and had seats reserved in the very front block; these provided the best view of the stage, and could not be purchased. Medusa had a spare ticket and knew how much I wanted to see a live show, so in no time at all we had seats just a few rows away from the stage!

There were the last few VIPs being interviewed by the press, the crowds still clamouring for photo opportunities and autographs, the personal assistants talking incessantly into their head-sets and constantly checking the time. The flashes of cameras, glare of the spotlights and vivid colours, of the banners and people alike, all made for a surreal sight. So much excitement and effort, all to honour this year's tributes, though I doubt they would appreciate this gesture as much as the others; the tributes this year are all Victors, so they'll have seen it all before. It's easy to dazzle the usual tributes from the districts with even the simplest wonders the Capitol has to offer, but the Victors were used to a certain level of Capitol living by now.

'All done! Come on let's go, I can't wait any longer!' Medusa chirped as she linked arms with me. We both stood in a moment of awe then glanced at one another and walked elegantly towards the entrance reserved for VIPs; there was no queuing and, before I knew it, my coat and scarf had been taken to the cloakroom and I was being offered a complimentary drink. I could certainly get used to this!

As we sauntered into the building, we were greeted by the plush, climate controlled interior of gold and red. The red carpet, in fact, extended into the lobby and looked to go throughout the building. This was exquisitely complimented by the gold-gilded décor that permeated the space; columns, banisters, ornaments, counters and even the floral arrangements were all tinged with gold. Not that we could see much of the décor, given the amount of people still milling around. After exchanging waves, smiles and pleasantries for a short while, Medusa and I turned our attention to the bar; the seats in the front block all came with beverages provided as standard, so we would have something to do during the show, but there was still time for a cheeky cocktail or two!

We sipped on our fruity drinks, chatted to a few people we knew and shared our outfit predictions for this year, but soon the 5 minute call came so we made our way towards the auditorium. We were greeted at the door by an Avox usher, one of many, who checked our tickets and guided us to our seats. The lights in the auditorium were a little dim, but the stage lighting provided more than enough to see by; besides, the dark carpeted steps all featured light-strips, so it was easy enough to climb to our row.

It took the odd 'excuse me' and 'terribly sorry' before we were able to get to our seats, but once we had gotten comfortable we were able to take in how cavernous this hall truly is. There are no columns or supports in the middle, so it really is a wonder to me how the roof stays up, given how large it is. There are echo-dampening panels all over the ceiling and walls, expertly woven into the carefully planned, yet minimalist, appearance of the auditorium.

We were both very glad to see that nobody in the immediate rows in front of ours had opted to wear oversized headgear, meaning we would be able to see very well.

'Do you fancy a bit of bubbly before the show starts?' I asked Medusa, who was busy checking her wig again. I could already feel the heady effects of our previous drinks starting to take hold, but there was no point in arriving completely sober to the after party, right?

'We might as well, there's no telling how long it could be before it all gets going', she replied without looking away from her mirror. She was right to complain, because these shows seldom started on time. I recall that one year there had been a 20 minute delay; at the time we were told it was due to technical difficulties, but we since discovered two of the tributes had started a fight back-stage. How ungrateful! Didn't they know we were all waiting to cheer them on? Medusa and I were watching on a big screen in one of the plazas back then, but we were still left waiting.

I pressed a luminous blue button, with a picture of a glass, for each of our seats and after a hum and a moment, two fluted glasses emerged from a little compartment in our armrest, filled with sparkling, chilled champagne. I still have no idea where it comes from, but it really adds a touch of sophistication to the entire affair. I passed one glass to Medusa and took my own; we again toasted to a memorable night and chatted about which stylist, other than Cinna of course, would be the most imaginative this year and started to share our ideas about last year's choices and how we would dress a certain district. When the lights started to go down and the well-known theme tune started to play, we turned to face the glittering stage, ready for whatever marvels would be shown there.

After a short while, Caesar Flickerman himself strode on stage and greeted us all with his perfectly white smile and all-round charisma. There he was, for real this time; I could hardly contain myself! The crowd obviously shared my enthusiasm by bursting into rapturous applause and cheers, so much so that it took Caesar quite some time to settle us down again. Then the show, which we had all been waiting for since last summer, began.

After a short introduction, the Victors were called out and given a short amount of time to talk to us, while being interviewed by Caesar. As expected, both the choice of clothes and words produced mixed emotions in us. I recall that there was an element of coldness in their eyes, as each Victor came up to speak. Though their smiles were bright and their words convincing, I could tell they were not happy. Medusa and I felt the same way; most of the Victors were household names to us and of course we each had our favourites, so it was a shame to think only one of them would be left after the Games. Still, rules are rules I suppose; our forefathers must have known what they were doing when they wrote them down, all those years ago.

Medusa's eyes lit up when Finnick from District 4 came on stage, which comes as no surprise since everybody knows all women want him. She would speak of him incessantly on occasion, and would always recall the time he winked at her at an after-party. It's a good thing I believe her, since thousands probably wouldn't. As expected, Medusa had her eyes fixed on him the entire time he was on stage, drinking in every word he said and sighing at his dashing smile. Come to think of it, it may well be she was wearing turquoise that night in homage to her hero from District 4. I should ask her one day, if I remember.

My particular favourite is Joanna Mason, that feisty lady from District 7. While I appreciate the precipitous rise to fame of Katniss and Peeta, mostly aided by the brilliance of their stylist and the tireless resolve of their escort, the pair will have to work hard to win over years of admiration for our other Victors. I'll be honest, The Girl on Fire comes a close second but I feel she does not possess the same conviction and strength of character to match Joanna's. Having said that, I was both surprised and entertained by Joanna's outburst during her interview, as it epitomised what I knew to be her characteristic fervour. I was a little disappointed at her choice of language and that she stormed off stage before Caesar could finish the interview, but it was still one of the most memorable of the night.

Having seen our favourites, Medusa and I sat through the remaining interviews, waiting patiently for the one interview we were most curious about: District 12. When Katniss emerged in that white lace and organza wedding gown, both Medusa and I had tears in our eyes and had to dab them carefully with our silk handkerchiefs; we were moved by the sheer beauty of the gown and heavy significance it bore. The wedding of the year had been cancelled because of the Games, so I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say we were more than happy to be able to see the wedding gown. But nothing could prepare us for the transformation the gown underwent as The Girl on Fire twirled for us, one last time; as she spun, the gown looked to be burning, from the ground up. The white lace and organza flaked away to reveal the sleek sheen of black feathers. It was a little like watching a swan turn into a crow, but in the most beautiful way possible; maybe it was a blackbird, or even a black swan? When the wings elegantly unfurled from the back, the entire auditorium was stunned to silence, before erupting into cheers and exclamations of pure admiration at the execution of such a gown. I stood, applauding such artistry, secretly wishing that I could one day be the recipient of such admiration for my creations. Katniss then clarified the dress was meant to be a Mockingjay, which in hindsight comes as no surprise, given the rise in popularity of anything related to that bird. I'm sure that dress will sell in no time after the Games: it's the most Mockingjay thing around!

The air of joviality that had permeated the entire event quickly turned sour during Peeta's interview; we all knew him to be level headed but with character, so we looked forward to hear what he had to say this year. It didn't take long for him to drop the bombshell: not only had they been secretly married, but Katniss was pregnant with their child! How something like this could have been overlooked I will never know, but I can assure you the ripple of shock and surprise were felt by everyone, even Caesar.

The host of many a Hunger Games had always appeared cool and in control, but that night even he started to feel a little hot under the collar. It was strange to see a man that normally oozed such confidence suddenly be left speechless, if just for a moment. The gasps had now turned into people standing and shouting for the Games to be stopped. I joined in with this cacophony of displeasure, shortly followed by Medusa, after she recovered from the shock of the news. Caesar greeted our complaints with his usual beaming smile, insisting that this was news to all of us, but this was not enough to placate the frenzied clamour for justice. Throughout all this the Victors, who were standing on a raised platform to the back of the stage, all held hands in a show of unity. Even if she was from the districts, how could they put a pregnant woman into the arena? It was preposterous!

Caesar was evidently unsettled by this point; it was apparent the crowd would not be controlled, so with a quick gesture he motioned for the cameras to stop rolling and left the stage. In a heartbeat all the stage lights went out, so we were plunged into darkness. People screamed, as we were all unprepared for such a reaction, but nobody moved. We all sat there, waiting for the house lights to come up, or for someone to tell us what to do, but neither thing happened.

I leaned over to Medusa, tapped her shoulder and asked 'Is it over, do you think?'

She jumped a little, since it was hard to see, but responded 'I…I have no idea. Maybe it is…' She shrugged and looked around to see what everyone else was doing. People were starting to stand and make for the doors, using the light from their PDAs and the luminous strips on the steps to guide them.

The idea spread fast so in no time at all there was a sudden rush to leave the auditorium. People were falling over each other, tripping over bags and steps, sending champagne glasses flying and, no doubt, causing the loss of countless accessories. Before we were all too panic stricken, a large group of Avoxes with torches emerged from the back and started to usher us out, a group at a time. I had never felt more undignified in my life, nor had Medusa; as we were herded out of the auditorium the house lights came on, so I noticed some Peacekeepers had positioned themselves in front of the stage. I didn't know if it was to stop any of us getting back-stage, or to stop any flighty Victors from leaving with the crowd. Either way, I found it a little unsettling.

Despite the Avoxes best efforts, there was much pushing and shoving, so Medusa and I were separated in the crowd; once I was in the lobby and things had settled down, I called her on my PDA. After a long ring, she answered; it was clear she had been crying so I asked her to meet me at the Cloakroom. Within a few minutes, we were reunited again, but oddly we didn't say much. She looked a little dishevelled, as did I, and was devastated at having lost a string of pearls in the tussle to get out. Much as it pained me to see Medusa so sad, I would not be going back into the auditorium to look for pearls.

I handed my ticket stub to the Avox at the counter, who brought me my coat and scarf; she behaved as though nothing had happened at all, which I will confess annoyed me a little. I then led Medusa out of the lobby and into the evening air outside. As we walked to the kerb-side, we both noticed how quiet it was. You could still hear the sounds of the city-wide celebration in the background, but close by there was no chatter, no clicking of cameras or insistent paparazzi running around. Some of the red ropes, used for crowd control before, had been knocked down, probably by people as they left. The spotlights had been turned off, so the street lighting cast long shadows up the walls of the theatre. It now looked dull and empty, as an ever decreasing stream of sullen and confused theatre-goers exited the building; the life and sparkle, so prominent before, was gone.

Couples and small groups mumbled and muttered their disappointment as they passed us; we shared knowing glances with some, a few words with others, but no real conversations. I was in half a mind to go and tell the press about this; someone had to speak up about this sort of treatment. However, the press had mostly left and those few that remained were packing up their things and did not look to be in the mood to interview anyone.

We reached the kerb and realised we must be at least an hour too early for our car, which we had planned to pick us up after the scheduled finish of the show. With a sigh of frustration, Medusa searched for her PDA in her clutch bag.

'I can't believe this could have happened' she snapped as she typed a message to her driver, 'surely they can't just oust us all like that!? They obviously don't know who I am…'

'I know they like to end on a dramatic note, but this does seem a little… excessive' I replied, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

'Excessive!?' she scoffed, causing he wig to quiver 'they left us in the dark and then, without a word of warning, practically threw us out of the theatre, Octavius! I'll be Chirping about this until my thumbs ache! They're not getting away with it…' Medusa retorted, making me feel a little uncomfortable.

'Sorry' I muttered, with my eyes to the ground, 'I was just trying to make sense of things…' Then silence; I cleared my throat and adjusted my scarf as I felt my face flush. It was obvious that Medusa was rather upset by what had happened. No, she was furious.

'And to top it off I lost my favourite set of black pearls!' Medusa added with a frustrated tone. She noticed I did not respond, so made an effort to reconcile by placing a hand on my arm and saying 'I didn't mean to snap at you Octavius, it's just I cannot make head nor tail of what happened… I'm confused and tired and my feet ache… anyway, the car will be here in 10 minutes, so we might as well find somewhere more comfortable to wait until it arrives'. She motioned to a nearby bench, which we proceeded to sit on.

We chatted a little while sitting there, under the bright street lights, but it was clear we were both tired after our ordeal, as there were long periods of silence. We knew there was going to be a post-interviews party in the penthouse of my block upon our return, but neither of us felt much like celebrating. We decided we would make up some excuse on the way back.

Our night was over, and that was the first time my complete faith in the Capitol started to waiver. While sitting there, I remember thinking 'Is it over?' and what unnerved me most is that either way, the only answer I could come up with was 'Yes, I think it is'.

11


	2. The Blackout

**The Blackout**

Everything is fine.

That's what we were told every day since the Third Quarter Quell, though not in those exact words. It was more implied in the spate of new, dazzling shows and events which served to promote the best experiences the city had to offer; exclusive social engagements still filled our calendars, fashion was vibrantly flaunted on the boulevards and life in the Capitol did in fact seem to be fine, as ever.

Having said that, I could not help but still feel uneasy about what I had witnessed that day in the darkened theatre, as we tripped over each other to flee from a wholly unexpected situation. That evening was the epitome of chaos! We were told that the show had to be cut short due to 'technical difficulties', which quickly became the accepted story, though rumours of a fight amongst the Victors had also circulated; everyone knew tensions were running high that night, so I suppose it could be possible. No matter how many apologies and compensatory items were distributed following the event, anyone present that night couldn't deny they had had a new and very unpleasant experience. We are all used to the flawless performances of stars and citizens alike so have come to expect a certain order to the way things are done in the Capitol.

Speaking of order, over the last few weeks security around the city has noticeably been increased around official buildings and, oddly, the station. Do they know something we don't? More people also look worried, despite the make-up and camera-ready smiles; darting stares and pursed lips quickly silenced awkward questions as we all strove to exemplify 'Capitol best'.

We all wear masks here. It is relatively easy for me to wear a pleasant face when needed as I always make a point of channeling my true emotions into my work; I feel that is the most opportune way to breathe life into your art so it becomes an extension of you. As I started to design my autumn/winter collection I could see the haze of silent doubts and unanswered questions beginning to manifest in my work; I was making more use of frayed edges, muted tones and fabrics with varying degrees of opacity to shroud brighter shades. I have always been keen to create pieces that can tell a story, if someone cares enough to notice it, though I was beginning to feel a little guilty about letting my art speak so honestly about how I felt. Still, ever true to my creative vision, I spent long hours piecing together new outfits and busied myself with decisions on which type of cloth would move most naturally when worn and whether an embellishment should be copper or burnished bronze.

While my work is my life, I could not neglect the fact I am also a keen socialite, ever eager to promote my new ideas. It was still important for me to attend as many high-brow events as I could between sampling cloth and choosing colour palettes; these events were mostly jovial affairs typically comprising excessive amounts of compliments, diplomatic questions and countless photo opportunities before ending in a glowing haze of contentment at some point in the small hours of the following morning. I had been rubbing shoulders with the Capitol elite for some time, thanks in part to my dear friend Medusa, so I began to recognize faces over the years. Any Capitol citizen worth their wig knows full well that keeping up and being seen with the 'in-crowd' is nearly as important as looking camera-ready all the time! We all took great pride in knowing everything about the most current visionaries of the Games, fashion and media, the rising stars and those whose fame had been doused by scandalous rumours. I'm sure you can imagine most conversations at a social event in the Capitol revolved around people; who they were, what they did, whether you knew them or not, who or what they were wearing and where their lives or careers were headed, to name but a few topics.

Despite all this merry-making there were small instances that hinted at a larger, less perfect picture just below the surface of all these shallow pleasantries. Up until a few months ago, before the Quell, the newest visionaries of the Games, catwalk and screen were hot topics! Now it was as though some of these people had never existed. Nobody who is that admired for their work evaporates overnight without a word, or without leaving some scandal in their wake, not in the Capitol. In a convoluted way this is how I came to my own conclusions about these recently eminent figures, but in particular about Cinna, whom I had always admired for his bold and unapologetic approach to fashion; nobody talked about him anymore, the man who single handedly turned away from tradition and created the iconic image of the Girl on Fire! Like her or not, nobody can deny how quickly she became an icon, all thanks to Cinna. The odd thing is that his fashion house was still producing high-end garments, though under the supervision of a new artistic director who seemed to be championing a classic military style. It would appear that clean lines and medals will soon be in vogue.

Most citizens who move in the higher circles of Capitol society (or have adequate connections) know that people disappear sometimes, but it is neither worth our time or indeed our freedom to talk about it. Why discuss such terrible things when there is fashion to be admired, food to be savoured and a fabulous time to be had? So we just saunter from one festivity to the next in blissfully construed ignorance. Mind you, live like that long enough and you really start to become as vacuous as you appear!

The vast majority of people I meet at social events simply live for the next exclusive occasion and spend the rest of the time sleeping it off or wondering what to wear to the next one; that may sound callous but in many cases it really is true! I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I actually had something to do between parties, my art is my job after all!

When designing a new piece or collection, I prefer to come up with the first concepts on my own; during these moments of artistic solitude I can think more clearly but sometimes my mind does wander. On occasion I think things that I could never utter out loud, for fear of my words being misconstrued or being likened to the city's has-beens whose shame keeps them hidden away from society. It's much easier to keep these unfortunate thoughts to myself; I couldn't even tell Medusa! You see, I don't always agree with things many others in the Capitol readily accept as I find the information with which we are supplied to be stifled and repetitive. Unable to voice my concerns, I was still struggling to come to a sensible conclusion regarding the strange things I had witnessed since that night at the theatre; the arena exploding, the relative silence from the media and the unsettled feeling that seemed to linger in the air. But then, as often happens in the Capitol, such sparks of clarity are quickly swallowed up by the fast paced and demanding schedule of a popular stylist.

Then came the broadcasts.

All fixed screens in the Capitol are programmed to show important, official messages as they are being aired, meaning they come on even if you'd rather they didn't. I was sketching out ideas for a show stopping headpiece when the screen in my studio came to life, blaring the opening of Panem's anthem. President Snow appeared, a vision of regal purity, addressing the nation with a message of unity. These propos were not uncommon and would often be used as fillers between programs so I was about to return to my work, slightly irritated by the interruption, when the camera panned round to show the face of someone many of us had presumed dead; there was Peeta, looking very much alive! Many jaws around the Capitol must have dropped at that moment, along with mine. Following the shambolic end of the last Games, the Capitol rumour-mill had been in overdrive in an attempt to draw reason from what we had all seen before the transmission cut out; the most popular was that the star-crossed lovers, and I quote, had 'died in each other's arms, burning with love until the very end'. Terrible, isn't it? Logically, many questions followed: if Peeta is here then where is Katniss? Did she really die in the arena, as the early reports suggested? Is that why the 'inseparable lovers' were not shown together? We could only speculate.

A second eloquent promo followed a few days later, which I watched more intently in the faint hope of gleaning some answers; Snow was there again, with Peeta to his right and Joanna to his left, both looking ahead with stern resolution. Having held back tears as Joanna entered the arena for the second time I was relieved to see that she too had survived; she is one of my favourite Victors! Along with her this broadcast also featured a small platoon of Peacekeepers on either side of the regal trio. Now, I know a thing or two about self-branding and subliminal messaging (the life-blood of my art) so it was clear to me this was a show of force; the new message had been issued as a warning shrouded in diplomatic words, but to who? Certainly nobody in the Capitol so I presumed it must have been the Districts, which would explain why Snow was so keen to show that Peeta and Joanna stood with him, with us. Then, within a few moments, the image warped and a distant static voice fizzed out of the speakers. Unfortunately, the transmission was cut short before I could discern whether the muffled words I had perceived were really there. It sounded like someone was trying to get their own message across, but why? Who were they? Whatever had caused this break in the broadcast it was soon clear Snow was no longer playing the propo game; there were no further transmissions of this kind after that. However, despite being short lived, they left us with so many questions that nobody was brave enough to ask, let alone answer! Frustrating though this was we had no option but to carry on, even though it was now more apparent than ever that something was brewing just over the horizon; the shortages started soon after the end of Snow's propo campaign, as did the interviews.

An obvious change of tactic. As Caesar asked probing questions with his usual professionalism and Peeta answered with conviction and lucid sincerity, it seemed he was truly unaware of the rebellious motives of a few of his fellow Victors; Peeta sincerely wished for there to be no conflict and claimed that Katniss (she was alive after all!) was being used by the 'radicals' to instigate violence in the Districts. It was thanks to these interviews that we began to piece together the events following the accident in the arena. This was the first time we had heard about the 'radicals' that had orchestrated the explosion and aided the subsequent escape, all of which went undetected until now. Apparently. Despite the initial shock this made for captivating viewing and a welcome distraction from the growing shortages; I could have lived without prawns or fresh blueberries for a while but seeing Peeta deteriorate over the run of programs was nearly more than I could bear. This was quickly turning into a gritty, purposefully un-refined presentation and I found it most unsettling. Already by the third interview he was less coherent, seemingly lost in thought and needing more prompting; the words he spoke did not match the broken young man we were being shown. I'm nearly ashamed to say I still tuned in for all of them; they made for a sobering watch.

So there really was trouble in the Districts, which would explain the shortages. Even the most naïve citizen soon came round to the idea that these 'radicals' did exist and did not appear to want to give up; they clearly had the technical means and connections to sabotage the Games, so what else could they do? Who were they, where were they hiding and were they dangerous? Should we be worried? Apparently not, since we were told everything was fine. I suppose we could be forgiven for simply assuming this would all blow over soon; there are stories of minor disturbances in the Districts from time to time, fuelled by misguided ideals, but they are always short lived thanks to the efforts of our Peacekeepers. It would just be a question of time before the rebels were forced out of hiding and made to answer for their actions, right?

Wrong.

It must have been a week after Peeta's last interview when any doubts about our safety were justified. Now that we all knew about the daring escape from the arena and the subsequent skirmishes in the Districts, all instigated by these nameless rebel agitators, conversations about the topic flowed a little more easily. People were genuinely worried now, mostly because we had rarely had to go without, but also because this seemed like a threat that would not go away. As the shortages continued and many of our questions still went unanswered there was little option but to wait for the next move, though who would make it was anybody's guess; reports told us that the Peacekeepers were gaining ground and that the rebels were being pushed back so, as it seemed we wouldn't have much longer to wait until normality resumed, we carried on with our lives with varying degrees of success. Only a few of us appeared to fall back into their routines with ease, while most of us found it difficult to comprehend the reality that was quickly changing right before our eyes.

The blackout was as sudden as it was terrifying! One minute I was sketching ideas in my apartment as the city lights twinkled in the night and then darkness swallowed me in a heartbeat. The faint emergency lights flickered on and as my eyes slowly adjusted I moved towards the window; I could barely see anything! The dull glow of a clouded moon picked out only a few crude details, like the outline of the mountains and the glimmer of glass on some of the city's buildings. The power had gone out in isolated spots before, on rare occasions, but never the whole city. My first thought was to contact Medusa but my PDA would not connect so I opted to head for the corridor, in a hope to confirm that this was really happening. I met a few of my neighbours there who were as confused as I was so we skipped the pleasantries and chose to air our concerns. We chatted nervously for a while as we waited for instructions to be issued, but none came. We then debated whether or not it was worth heading down to the lobby of our apartment block but thought it beast to avoid using the stairs in the gloom. Since we couldn't use the lifts we ended up deciding it was best to stay in our apartments and wait for the power to come back; none of us had any doubts that it would! In all honesty, none of us really knew what else to do so were happy to have come to a collective decision. Despite still being visibly shaken we shared some reassurances that everything would be fine and went back to our homes. Using the light from my PDA I set out and lit some scented candles on my coffee table then proceeded to procure myself some ice-cream, which had already started to melt. No point in letting it go to waste! As I sat there in the gloom, working through a tub of soupy ice cream and waiting, my mind started to wander.

I had always been told that ever since the Dark Days, when the first uprisings happened, we had earned the right to rule; it was thanks to the wisdom of our forefathers that humanity was snatched from the brink of oblivion. What they achieved was no small feat so there was a distinct need to ensure everyone remembered what could have happened; the Games were borne of this need and serve as a constant reminder of our history and the importance of safeguarding our future. However, I will stick my neck out and say that in hindsight I can see the Games were also borne of anger, spite and fear, which is why I have never been fully supportive though I have played my part in them too; I was a stylist for a number of years, before my independent career took off. It's amazing what even a short time as a tribute stylist can do for one's career. It was a glamorous time but being so close to the tributes meant seeing how human they actually were; some were curious, others lost in thought and a few boasted of their approaching victory in mock-confidence but they all succumbed to nerves, tears and fear in the end. At the time I already had doubts about what I was doing, offering kind reassurances to someone who would likely be dead in a few weeks, so I had to keep reminding myself of the Dark Days and how the Games were important in ensuring the longevity of humanity. But now, sitting in the dark, I find myself asking: was upholding the wishes of our forefathers really worth all of this? Surely the Districts have learned their lesson by now, but then again what's to say they won't bite the hand that feeds them as soon as the rules are relaxed? Not that this would make much difference now, since it appears we have already been bitten.

Believe me when I say I am sympathetic to the Districts, to some degree. I can't even begin to imagine what it must feel like to hear your name called out at a Reaping, knowing that means your odds of survival have greatly diminished. However, I confess that my empathy is wholly passive; I really would like to make some sort of lasting difference to life in the Districts, though I feel powerless to do so and deep down I think I'm happy with things the way they are. I'm sorry but I have an aversion to change, especially on such a drastic level. This is the only life I've ever known and I am very aware that the Districts make it possible. If the Districts weren't there any more what would Panem become? What would happen to me? I doubt very much of any of them would spare a kind word for anyone from the Capitol. Faced with this moral dilemma I decided to go with the safest option, do nothing; avoid instigating any changes at all, be they for better or worse, and leave that sort of thinking to someone else. Politics and war have never been my forte. My strengths lie in making beautiful, empowering things to bring vibrancy to this tired world so that is what I shall continue to do.

As though to provide affirmation to my decision, the Capitol flickered back to life as the power came back after a few hours. I found being bathed in light reassuring, despite not being in the dark for very long.

The troubles will soon blow over. Everything will be fine, I'm sure of it. Or at least, I hope so…


End file.
